


The Definition of Irregular

by gowerstreet



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: BAMF OFC, Canon-Typical Violence, Easter Egg from another fandom, Gen, M/M, Positive ending, casefic, discreetly established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, mention of offscreen violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24390235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gowerstreet/pseuds/gowerstreet
Summary: When Holmes feels unable to leave 221b  Baker Street whilst Watson recovers from a recent injury, faces from the past bring the cases to him and the Irregulars prove to be invaluable allies.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 44
Collections: Holmestice Exchange - Summer 2020





	The Definition of Irregular

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OldShrewsburyian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldShrewsburyian/gifts).



November 1889

"Gotcha!" The grip on her collar had a professional feel to it. "You're coming with me…" 

Vi glanced sideways in desperation. "Ernie! “ She cried, wriggling against Constable’s grasp, but to no avail.

"Oi! Gerrof ‘er!" A rotten onion splattered against the policeman’s chest .

"You little – –" The iron grip on Vi’s neck loosened and she saw her chance. Ernie was already running through the crowded market. She followed him, ducking around the stallholders and into the alley next to the Blue Lion.

"That was too bloody close,” he panted. Vi just grinned.

"Just as well we can outrun them…"

"What you got?" Ernie reached into his pocket around his neck and pulled out an elegant wallet. "Not sure how much is in there, but this should be enough...”

A shadow fell across them from the top of the alley. “Enough for what, may I ask?"

The wallet fell to the ground, bouncing away from them. A slim hand in an expensive black glove picked it up and brushed off the debris.

The twins froze as the figure advanced. "Perhaps it is just as well that I found you before Constable Bruce did."

Vi screwed up the last of her courage. "What's it to you?"

"Because I am in a position to offer you both a choice. Come with me or find yourself in the hands of the police and watch the charges pile up against you. Pickpocketing is one thing, but assaulting a constable is something else entirely…"

"How do we know we won't end up there anyway?" snapped Ernie, disbelieving.

The slender giant in front of them acknowledged the point with a tilt of his head. Because my name is Sherlock Holmes and I keep my promises."

\--------

February 1901

Mrs Hudson knocked on the open door.” A Mrs Denver is here to see you. Shall I send her up?”

Holmes frowned at the name before the cogs of his mind whirled into place. “Thank you, please do.”

“Your Grace! What a delight to meet you again. I hope that you are well?”

“All the better for seeing you, Mr Holmes. I do hope that Dr Watson is recovering well from that unpleasantness at Paddington...”

“Thankfully, yes, despite the recent damp and vicious weather. He will be sorry to have missed you, but cannot be disturbed. Now how may we be of assistance?”

“It is a matter of some delicacy, involving one of my more distant family connections, whose existence has just come to light .”

“ I am entirely at your service, ma’am .”

“Excellent.” she said with a smile in her voice .”I will start at the very beginning -this may take me some time…. ”

“May I take notes?”

She nodded her approval. “That will probably be for the very best. My story begins, some decades past, with the unprincipled misbehaviour of a wealthy young man as these events often do…”

_________________

Holmes burst into Watson’s room, exhilarated with the idea of a new challenge. “Wake up. We have a case.”

Watson took in an awkward breath, far too aware of his healing ribs. “I am delighted to hear it. But I fear you will have to leave me at home to guard the fire during this miserable June, as I am in no fit state for leg work of any description.”

Holmes ruffled his hand gently across the top of Watson’s hair.

“My dearest doctor, you will not be required to set foot beyond our own doors for some time. You and I will mainly be the direction of the action in the first instance, and we will assign the collection of evidence and sifting of the facts until they coalesce to form a melded truth. And once I'm confident of all of them and their potential criminality, I will of course involve Lestrade.”

“Very glad to hear it.”

Homes fitted himself against Watson on the arm of his chair, taking infinite care not to jostle him. “I will lay the bones of the story in front of you over lunch.”

“I will be all ears, dear heart.”

________

Holmes left Watson to rest after lunch, then considered the task ahead. Research amongst the public record would be required, at which Watson generally excelled, due to his eye for detail and overbearing respect for recordkeeping.

But on this occasion, for this case, other individuals who had not recently fought off the St Mary’s Strangler would be better placed to spend hours poring over ledgers and logging what they found.

Someone who spent their days in such dedication to maintenance of records in fact; there were any number of his former Irregulars now suitably and securely employed in establishments across London who might be minded to assist.

But who?

-

It did appear that Coincidence, the fickle sister of Fate, made the decision for him, in the arrival of a visitor in the early evening.

Ernest Rathbone ascended the stairs, dressed in the sober suit which passed as uniform for the thousands of clerks who ensured the smooth running of the City. The rough edges of the pickpocketed urchin from Blue Lion Alley had been smoothed away by education and opportunity, but an element of his nervous energy remained.

Holmes ushered him in. “The most fortunate of encounters, Ernest. I was just thinking of you today, and thus you appear. We are delighted to see you. Life appears to be treating you well.”

“Very well, Sirs. And yourselves?”

Watson gestured towards the chaise. “Holmes is his usual self, as you will have ascertained, and I am recovering from a recent minor misadventure.”

“I hope that it does not indispose you for long.” He accepted the tumbler of scotch which Holmes offered and took a sip. “It is not the most pleasant of evenings to be out in the city…”

Homes settled into his own armchair opposite Watson’s. “Now how can we be of assistance?“

“It might be something or nothing,” Ernest began, “but I would appreciate your advice before approaching the relevant authorities. Let me set the scene, if I may...”

Watson took out his notebook. “Be our guest.”

“I have been an employee of the London Pearl Life Assurance Company for almost eight years now and have risen slowly to my new position as one of the more senior filing clerks. The Company has spent the last few months acquiring the interests and properties of several smaller enterprises, and we were charged with ensuring the files of these firms are appropriately assimilated into the main archive as swiftly as possible. Each of us were assigned the records of one of the former firms, and thus were working independently of each other. 

“In total, we were responsible for the assimilation of perhaps a thousand files, some going back many years. I was content to bear such a responsible role, as I understood that each file amongst the oceans of paper represents another family’s story – the marriages, the births and deaths of dear ones are just as significant to the people involved as great events which involve whole nations.” He paused for breath. Holmes encouraged him on with a smile.

“I was towards the end of this task, when the majority of the records had found a new place in the archive, that I noticed a peculiarity. “

“Of what kind?” asked Watson.

“A particular individual had appeared to have been married three times and had then been cursed by bereavement on each occasion within the space of five years. Each time they had taken out a policy against their wife’s life and then claimed payment following their deaths which all occurred within a year of the wedding.”

Holmes’ brows shot up. “And this had gone undetected by what means?”

“The simple answer to that is one of geography, and professional secrecy, Mr Holmes. Each of the policies was purchased from a different, smaller company, which have now come under the umbrella of the London Pearl as a whole.”

"I trust that you have made a note of the name?”

“Indeed, but only of the husband, as I feared discovery and questioning if I spent too long with the papers. I came to you today because I spotted yet more papers bearing that name amongst those assigned to me for filing. At first, I thought I had been mistaken, but the date and birth and Christian names remained constant. I apologise for providing you with only the briefest of details, but I did not wish to attract attention to an action which might be interpreted as gross misconduct.“

“Indeed, especially when you have worked so hard to prove your capabilities. And what was the name of this individual, Ernest?”

“Rackham, Mr Holmes.”

“A fairly common English name. Is there any possibility that you have not confused two or more different individuals?”

“Not unless each is known to their families as Aloysius Hubert.” Rathbone noticed Holmes’ fractional blink of recognition at the name. "Is this related to an existing case?”

“I cannot say more than it reminds me of a name that I have recently encountered, nothing more. How well would you rate your memory?”

“Fair, I would say, but nowhere near as encyclopaedic as your own, Mr Holmes. But I did remember the address – 14 Charlotte Street, because that was our mother’s name. Beyond that, I would not trust my mind to collate all of the details accurately. And even if it were, I appreciate that a name and a series of dates taken from a clerk’s notebook would not provide sufficient evidence for the police to approach with a demand to see the records for themselves.”

“Indeed," said Watson. “But a few more details – names and dates in particular, -would be enough for a more focused search of the public record.”

“I will do my best.”

\--

Ernest left shortly afterwards, a clearer idea of what would be required. Holmes stared into the fire. “Of all of the individuals in London, how likely would you find it that same name keeps cropping up in the space of a day?”

“I noted that also.”

“And none of those for pleasant reasons.”

\------

Lestrade was always a welcome visitor in Mrs Hudson’s eyes, providing that he wiped his boots and generally called within the hours of common decency, unless lives were genuinely at stake.

Holmes entered the sitting room at half past nine the following morning to find him perusing the Times and enjoying the very last of a plate of bacon and eggs.

“Good morning Inspector. I hope that I did not disturb your meal…”

Lestrade blotted his mouth with the napkin. “Mrs Hudson invited me up whilst you were still abed. And if the esteemed quarter mistress of this establishment sees fit to offer me fuel for my day, how in all decency can I refuse?”

Holmes poured himself some coffee. “Particularly as I am rarely in the mood to eat this time of the morning. But now that you are here, we have a murderer to trail and observe to ensure that his victim escapes their fate.”

The mention of murder brought Lestrade out of his easy mood. “Who? What? Why are you allowing me to line my belly if there is someone to apprehend? And where is Dr Watson?”

“Good morning Lestrade. Please excuse my stately pace – I am still as stiff as all hell, but everything is knitting back nicely. Has Holmes updated you?”

“Only via a riddle.”

Holmes rolled his eyes and sat down in a faux huff. “Watson’s indisposition has meant that we have been confined within these walls. Be aware of the fragmentary nature of this tale – there may be many elements missing.

“Two days ago I received a visit from a titled lady of significant standing whom I was in a position to assist some years ago. She was concerned regarding the sudden marriage of a distant cousin shortly after receiving a modest bequest.”

“There’s nothing so strange about that,” interjected Lestrade. “The missus and I had to wait longer than we might have wanted to marry and set up our first home because we weren't in a position to do so.”

“The fact of the marriage is not the focus of concern,” continued Holmes. “The lady is significantly past the age of majority.It is to do with her choice of husband, a Mr Aloysius Rackham whom we independently suspect via another source to have suffered the misfortune to have lost all three of his earlier wives, having previously insured their lives.”

“And who came across this information...?”

“One of my former Irregulars, who has progressed into a clerical role in the City, uncovered it during the regular performance of his duties.”

“And is your source to be trusted?”

Watson picked up the tale. “Entirely. It is of course possible that three wives could be successively wooed, married and mourned in the space of five years, but in all reality, it seems more like a plot torn from the more sensational pages of a penny dreadful.”

“And can any of this be proved beyond doubt?”

Holmes selected a cigarette from his case and lit it before responding. “Not as yet, but enquiries are proceeding. When we reach that point, I may ask for your assistance in speeding along the officials at Somerset House, as well as potentially requesting access to any relevant coroner’s reports, to see what they show us.”

“So do you believe that the life of his latest wife is genuinely at stake?”

Holmes blew out a plume of smoke. “If the existing pattern repeats itself, yes, and she is guilty of nothing more than being taken in by the guile of a murderer.”

“And what do wish me to do, whilst your case is a tangle of rumour and happenstance?”

“To be ready to answer my call when it is needed, when I will lay open all that has been discovered and present it to you to facilitate an arrest.”

“And where will you be throughout this, Holmes?”

“Wherever you wish me to be, but I do not envision straying far from Baker Street until Dr Watson has recovered sufficiently to join me.”

Watson huffed. “You make it sound as though I am recovering from a mortal wound...”

“Perhaps, but that is my prerogative.”

Lestrade realised as he left Baker Street that there were spouses who shared less of a mutual regard than the friends who bickered with each other by their sitting room fire.

\----

Ernest Rathbone returned the following evening as soon as he could leave his office without attracting notice. It had taken him a number of attempts to delve through the Rackham files for the requisite information and if his hands shook, he could not decide whether it was the fear of being discovered, or by the implications of the fact thus uncovered.

He honestly thought that his heart would burst out of his mouth as his feet made their way to Baker Street. Mrs Hudson took one look at his shaking demeanour and sent him upstairs with the knowledge that supper awaited him if needed. He nodded his thanks.

Watson was sitting at the table when he entered, but Holmes was nowhere to be seen.

“How are you today, Doctor?”

“Much improved, thank you. Rest is the best cure, even if doctors make the worst patients. You, on the other hand, appear to be in need of succour. May I offer you some soup?”

“Please. I – I…”

Watson ladled out some and placed it in front of him. “Eat first. Not a further word out of you until that bowl is empty.”

Holmes strode into the room, impatient for information.Watson motioned him to sit, one finger to his lips. He did as requested, although it clearly pained him to continue waiting until Ernest felt sufficiently calm to speak.

“It is as I feared, although I truly wish that it was not, and there is a horrible pattern to each policy. The policy is bought shortly after the wedding, and in each case a successful claim is made within six months.”

“Do you have the information ?”

“Here.” Ernest pulled out the notebook and carefully ripped out three sheets. Each one bore the record of a separate woman.

Adele Rackman (nee Parsons) 1854-1889

Maria Rackman (nee Fitzsimmons) 1858-1891

Lilah Rackman (nee Phillips) 1862-1894

“I am aware that my whole livelihood is built on the misfortunes of those who die before their time, but none of these deaths could be seen as anything other than suspicious when viewed in this way.” He took a steadying breath. “It pulls at my very being, and if possible, I wish to play no further part in this.”

Holmes laid a fatherly hand on his arm. “Agreed. We cannot bring those poor souls back but know that your actions will most likely save the life of another. “

“Is there anything else I can do?”

“Not at this point. And if Inspector Lestrade asks to speak to you, please be assured that he means you no harm. I can appreciate that you might not have the best opinion of the police...”

“That is all in the past, thanks to you both.” Rathbone stood. “I had better go. Violet will be expecting me.”

“How does she occupy herself these days?”

“Little things, here and there – all perfectly legal, and keeping house for me. She’s still so quick with her hands – embroidering handkerchiefs and the like for a few of the tailors near Saville Row. And now she’s finally got her head around her letters, she can’t get enough of reading...”

“Please give her our regards – I may have a mission for her, if she is interested.” 

Watson handed him a half sovereign. “That’s for your trouble.”

Rathbone stared down at the coin, “I can’t accept this...”

“Then do it for your sister,” added Holmes. “And mind you tell her that she is always welcome here.”

____

Whilst it had been some time since their paths had crossed, Holmes only had to glance at the figure crossing Baker Street in a determined fashion to recognise Violet Rathbone.

Eleven years on from their first meeting, she stood in front of him, neatly but simply dressed in a grey costume that he suspected she stitched herself. He bowed over the hand she extended.

“Delighted to see you again, Miss Rathbone.”

“Likewise. When Ernest mentioned that he had been to see you, I simply had to visit you myself. How are you keeping?”

“As well as can be expected – I have the good Doctor to keep me in my place.”

“And quite the task it is too, sometimes.” Watson motioned her to the chaise. “Please sit down.”

“Thank you.” She watched with some amusement at Holmes as he poured the tea and passed a cup to her. “Makes a change to be waited upon.”

Watson’s eyes twinkled. “As every lady should be.”

“I’m hardly that, Doctor. These hands work for a living.”

“In Doctor Watson’s opinion, as in mine, all members of the fairer sex should be granted such respect.”

“Well, I cannot argue with that, and I thank you for your kindness. Now, would one of you please tell me what it is that you would wish me to do? I got the distinct impression from my brother that I might be of service to you.”

There was, Holmes thought, a refreshing straightforwardness to Violet that her brother lacked. Sometimes it came out in the bluntness of her speech, sometimes it was an instant of physical or emotional courage.

“We are in need of someone who can keep watch over a house and its occupants for as long as is needed.”

“May I ask why?”

“Indeed. There is a man, who has recently come to our attention for appearing to have an unfortunate habit of being unable to keep a wife alive. He has recently married for the fourth time, and we deeply hope that we will be able to ensure that she survives the marriage better than her predecessors.”

“I see.” Her eyes took on a steely gaze. “And how might I do that?”

“Proximity. We need to know the precise comings and goings. To assist in this, I have arranged for you to take the flower selling pitch on Charlotte Street during daylight hours. All the requisites will be supplied, and any money you earn will be yours in recognition of your time.”

“How long will you need me to do this? I don’t want to lose my piecework customers...”

“Perhaps a week. Hopefully less And if you lose customers as result, Dr Watson and I are perfectly happy to provide you with the references and recommendations which will enable you to find new ones.”

“And what will happen at night?”

“There will be others able to assist. This job requires a female hand, and one whom I can trust to be able to leap to the lady’s defence as I fear will be needed. Do you still have your skeleton keys?”

A portion of Miss Rathbone’s superficial refinement fell away. “Not used them in years, of course-“

“I should hope not,” interrupted Watson, his smile rather betraying his tone.

“But you never know when they could come in useful, like.”

“Precisely.”

“And what should I tell Ernie?”

“The truth, or whichever part of it you feel he should know. You always were the more determined and ferocious twin, even when from our first encounter.”

“True. Ernie’s heart will be the failing or the making of him one day, I swear. He’ll fret if he thinks I’m putting myself in peril, but what he doesn’t know won’t kill him. When would you want me to start?”

“Tomorrow morning,” replied Holmes. “Someone will meet you at seven o’clock sharp, in front of the British Museum to hand over the requisites to start you off, and to take the basket at the end of the day. “

“And what do I do if I spot any unpleasantness?”

“Use your police whistle. Five short blasts should bring someone running. Use tactics you deem appropriate to defend yourself.”

She grinned, and a flicker of her twelve-year-old self reappeared in her face. “Oh, I will. So do I get an advance payment? In recognition of my future service?”

Holmes could not help but laugh as he tossed her the bag of coins. “There you go.”

She tucked them into a pocket and stood. “Best be off, if I’m to be all bright eyes in the morning. I won’t let you down, gentlemen.”

Watson inclined his head in acknowledgement. “You never have, and you never will.”

\-----

The next two days passed in a flurry of correspondence. The death certificates of the first three Mrs Rackmans - were acquired from Somerset House. According to the official record, Adele died of heart failure,Maria succumbed to food poisoning and Lilah from a fall down the back steps. Requests for the relevant coroners’ reports were submitted with Lestrade’s support, with the expectation that they would arrive within days, from Barnet, Dartford and Dulwich respectively.

Violet Rathbone proved to be an excellent spy – she kept a record of her observations of the house, dropping them through the letterbox of 221b on her way back to the rooms she shared with Ernest in Camden.

Mrs Rackham, in her opinion, was a plain but pleasant woman approaching thirty. Violet would never have matched her with her husband in all eternity, as though was clearly her elder by at least a decade, seemed to pass through life as if the world owed him everything. He came over to buy a flower for his buttonhole, clearly taking the purchase as an opportunity to cast an eye over Violet, who smiled sweetly to hide the disdain of her heart. She itched for the chance to swipe the smirk from his face.

Violet’s opportunity came just after four on the third day. Mrs Rackham appeared to enjoy sitting close to the window of the front sitting room, all the better to make the most of the light for her embroidery. Rackham did not seem to be in the habit of joining her, preferring what seemed to be a study on the first floor. 

But this afternoon, he could not seem to leave his wife alone. Violet was thankful for the sharpness of her vision as she kept her eye on the house opposite, even to the detriment of potential customers.

She was tucking her coin bag back into her pocket when a sudden movement across the road grabbed her attention as did the ghost of a scream which seemed to come from number 14.

Violet was across the street before she knew it, blowing on her whistle with all her might as she leapt up the short flight of steps to number 14. The door was locked but her skeleton keys, along with a pointed kick to the lower panel soon dealt with the obstruction. 

The house was eerily silent until she heard the ferocious tumble of water from what had to be the kitchen sink, and the sounds of a struggle. She ran to the back of the house, readying herself for the fight.

Rackham had his wife bent over the deep sink. Her legs kicked against empty air. The sink was full to the point of overflow. 

Violet knew she had just seconds to act. She picked up the nearest chair and swung down towards Rackham’s head. The blow did not strike home, but it was enough for him to lose both his grip and his footing. He crashed to the floor, catching his temple on the table edge as he fell, and was still. A fraction of Violet hoped that he was dead, for all the trouble that would cause.

Mrs Rackham righted herself, and clung to the edge of the sink, frozen by fear and not daring to look round. Violet set the chair down as quietly as she could. She reached across and turned off the taps. 

“Mrs Rackham, my name is Violet Rathbone, and I work for Sherlock Holmes. He engaged me to ensure your safety. Please allow me to help you.” 

Mrs Rackham found the courage to turn her head, unable to control the racking shivers which coursed through her. “That’s it.” Violet pulled off her shawl and draped it across her shoulders.

“I-I don’t know what to do...”

“One small thing at a time. Can you walk?”

“I-think so.”

“That’s a start….” 

Out in the street, a vague chorus of police whistles could be heard, along with the growing hubbub of a crowd. Help was on its way.

\--- 

It took the rest of the day before the house on Charlotte Street regained an element of calm.

Constables Hardwick and Brett, who had been first on the scene, dragged a snarling and blood-streaked Rackham down the steps to the street in handcuffs to the wagon waiting to remove him to the Marylebone station, much to the interest of the small crowd who had gathered outside at the first sign of commotion.

Lestrade and Holmes took charge of the kitchen whilst Dr Watson tended to Mrs Rackham. She meekly accepted Violet’s help in the changing of her things, sitting on the edge of the bed whilst Violet untangled her hair. All energy spent, she looked longingly at the pillow.

“Will I have to speak to the police?”

“Not if it feels beyond you tonight. They have all the evidence they need.”

“Please don’t go...”

“I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

\--

Violet was as good as her word. She kept watch over Mrs Rackham until the mild sedative administered by Dr Watson took effect, then crept downstairs.

Ernest was in the kitchen on his hands and knees.Violet pulled him up by his shoulder. “What on earth are you doing? In your good trousers, too!”

“They’ll dry. I’m cleaning the floor before some undeserving soul goes their length and brains themselves. There’s been enough violence in this house.”

He dropped the damp rag into the sink.”There. Done.” He turned to face her full on and pulled her into a hug. “Don’t go throwing your life away. You are the only family I’ve got.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “We’ve both survived worse than this.”

“Doesn’t matter. Are you staying here, or coming back to Camden tonight?”

“I’m staying here. Doc thinks she’ll need the company. At least for a few more days, if she wants it.”

“I’ll bring you a bag over on my way to work in the morning.”

“That’ll help. Will you be ok, off on your own?”

“Course I will, sis. I’m all grown up now.”

She smirked against his waistcoat. “But you’ll always be half an hour younger than me…”

Some things could never change - for which both of them were grateful.

\--- 

Holmes’ inbuilt gallantry came to the fore the following morning, when Mrs Rackham felt sufficiently strong to begin asking questions about the events of the previous day. He never strayed from the truth, but found the means to tell her what she required to know in the gentlest way possible, including the barest details of the lives and deaths of the previous Mrs Rackhams.

“None of this could ever be seen as your fault,” he repeated constantly. “And now it is over.”

But even that was too much in the first weeks. She clung to Violet, sobbing herself into incoherence, suddenly aware of how many certainties of her life had been stripped away. All she remained sure she truly knew to be hers was Violet’s friendship and protections.

So she stayed on through the spring, maintaining the house and shielding Marguerite (as she now preferred to be called in private) from the curiosity of the public. The doorbell rang would be rung a dozen times a day and was left unanswered. A mutual trust developed, fed by Violet’s bottomless resources of patience. 

Eventually, the intensity of the public’s interest waned, as other sensations occurred. Marguerite began to venture out, always on Violet’s arm, for quiet walks around the British Museum and the surrounding streets. Slowly her shattered nerves began to mend, and her thoughts turned to the future. The lease on the house was paid up until the end of the summer, but that was that absolute boundary of her thoughts..

Rackham escaped human justice. He dropped dead of a heart attack in the prison exercise yard a week before his trial was due to begin, and absolutely no-one mourned his passing. With Marguerite’s consent, Holmes organised for the corpse to be buried without ceremony in an unmarked grave in an unremarkable cemetery beyond the prison walls. She was never told where he lay, and remained thankful for that.

Holmes and Dr Watson often took a stroll past the house in Charlotte Street, lifting their hats at the window even though a response never came. One afternoon, whilst Dr Watson was visiting a patient, he broke the pattern, approaching the house, accompanied by an elegant woman of middling height with golden hair and grey eyes under the most extravagant of hats.

Violet slipped out of the sitting room where they had been quietly reading and took a moment to compose herself before responding to his politely insistent knock. When she opened the doors of them Holmes tapped his hat and smiled sweetly at her. "Good afternoon, Miss Rathbone. May we come in?”

Violet could not did not see how such a request could be refused. She ushered them into the hall and closed the door behind them. She stared at the woman in front of her, who suddenly burst into life as though a key had been turned in her brain.

"Heavens, please forgive me." Her voice was soft and accented with privilege, although not unpleasantly so. “My name is Denver, as much that matters, and I am a cousin of the lady of the house, albeit from very different and distant branches of the family. I am not without influence, and I wish to offer assistance in any way that I am able …"

The door to the sitting room opened. Marguerite stood there, as though she was in the presence of a ghost.Her mouth fell open. "Your Grace…" she gasped.

The Duchess, thus unmasked, stepped forward and took her hand.

"My dear girl, please call me Honoria, as any family member of our mutual generation should. By what name do you prefer to be called?"

"The only name which belongs to me now is the one that my mother left me – Marguerite."

The Duchess smiled. "Then I am delighted to finally meet you, Marguerite. May we sit down in your charming sitting room?"

Violet and Holmes escaped towards the kitchen, in search of suitable refreshments and left the two cousins to talk.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Deeply honoured to have been able to gift this to OldShrewsburyian.  
> Huge thanks to Trudence for betaing this as lightning speed, and for listening to my plot wibbling


End file.
